


No Exit

by MilitaryPenguin



Category: Todoku Mokushiroku Kaiji
Genre: Gang Rape, M/M, Spoilers, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2011-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilitaryPenguin/pseuds/MilitaryPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichijou is robbed of his one source of comfort in this underground hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Exit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following request:   
> "ichijou x all of the underground workers  
> fetish: gangbangin"

He’d only been underground for roughly three days and already Ichijou knew of the only two events he’d ever look forward to: sleeping and showering. Eating would also be included had the meal not looked like something plucked out of a dumpster, on top of being terribly unfilling. The showering room didn’t feel—certainly didn’t look—entirely sanitary either, but he’d take whatever opportunity he could to feel clean again, feel  _himself_  again, if only a little.  
  
And, of course, the water felt pretty good too. He didn’t take much time to savor the feeling though, instead concentrating on scrubbing every speck of dirt off his skin and out of his hair, knowing fully well how pointless this was since he’d be going back to work right after lunch. Still, it took his mind off the place he was in.  
  
And the fact that, in this specific room, he was surrounded by people. (Privacy was another thing he sorely missed.)  
  
He sincerely hoped that his presence would go unnoticed, but the sudden feeling of a hand grasping his bare shoulder soon dashed that away.  
  
"Hey babe, what are you doing down here?" snickered the stranger.  
  
Ichijou ignored the man and continued scrubbing himself down. Snapping back would only draw more attention and he, frankly, didn’t want anything to do with these ingrates.  
  
Predictably, the man persisted. “My pals and I couldn’t help but notice this fine piece of fresh meat going unnoticed for days. We thought it’d be a shame to see it spoil.”  
  
"I don’t ‘spoil’," he wanted to retort, but quickly stopped himself when he realized that saying so meant he accepted being compared to a slab of meat.  
  
The man squeezed his shoulder and shook him. “Hey, I’m talking to you, baby.”  
  
 _Keep ignoring him. Someone of his ilk doesn’t deserve an ounce of your attention._  
  
Finally, the man released his grip, and for a moment Ichijou thought that would be the end of it. Then the man whistled, and Ichijou felt several callused, rough hands grab him and shove him to the cemented ground of the shower floor before he could make so much as a protest.  
  
He grit his teeth, fuming. “What the  _fuck_  do you think you’re doing?”  
  
A man—presumably the one who grabbed his shoulder earlier—crouched down at his length. He appeared to be roughly Ichijou’s own age, with an unkempt mess of hair that nearly touched his shoulders, stubble forming on his chin, and a lean build. It made Ichijou think of that man— _that worthless, filthy piece of_ —responsible for him being down here to begin with, but quickly pushed the angering thought out of his mind in favor of the current predicament he was in.   
  
The man, the leader, gave him a toothy grin and grabbed his chin, looking him over. “I think you know the answer to that, babe…man, we sure scored big. Pretty eyes, pretty hair, pretty skin…” Ichijou winced and tried to pull away as the leader ran his dirty thumb over his lips, but two hands firmly held the back of his head and neck in place. “…a real shame it’ll all be as cracked and grimy as we are for good soon…so best help ourselves to it while it’s fresh, right?”  
  
Ichijou couldn’t take any more of this. “Listen here y—”  
  
The man strengthened his grip on Ichijou’s chin, causing him to let out a small yelp of pain, and pulled him towards his face.  
  
"No you listen. The only noises you’re going to make are screams and moans—hell, I’ll even be generous and add protests to the list. Anything more and we’ll make sure that pretty face of yours ain’t so pretty anymore."  
  
Ichijou flinched at the threat. It was a little pathetic, he realized, that so much of his well-being hinged on how well he maintained his appearance, especially when he was going to be ( _supposed_  to be—he refused to believe he wouldn’t make it out of here eventually) spending the rest of his life here. But it was something in his control, something to take his mind off of his surroundings, and, above all, something he took pride in—especially amongst the very people who were undoubtedly below him. He wasn’t going to allow them to take that away from him. He’d endured years of performing degrading acts for that senile man and he would endure this. He shot the man’s threat a glare in response.  
  
The leader released his grip and nodded overhead. All the hands pinning him down pulled away, but only for a new pair of hands to grab his hips. Heart pounding away at his chest, Ichijou tried to wriggle and crawl away to escape but the man had seemingly the same strength as the amount that pinned him down. For now he could only concentrate on trying to conceal his panic—a feat made difficult when the fingers of the other man began stroking and fondling his ass, causing him to let out an “Ah!” of surprise and a series of chuckles from the surrounding men.  
  
"…soft and tender as a woman’s…" the other man murmured, pinching a bit of Ichijou’s ass between his finger and thumb, "…we really lucked out this time."  
  
Ichijou clenched his hands into fists and braced himself for what was yet to come. His skin prickled as he felt the man’s cock begin to make its entrance into him. A burning sensation tore into him and he hollered out in pain—a pain that persisted for several times as the man pounded into him. He grit his teeth, refusing to give the men the satisfaction of another scream and bowed his head so that no one could see him bumping his eyes against his arm to brush off the tears forming in them.   
  
As though the leader in front of him was aware of this, he pulled Ichijou’s hair so his face was forced up to meet the leader’s. “No need to hide it, I knew a delicate little thing like you wouldn’t be able to handle this. We all did. Yeah…keep making those faces. It’s a huge turn-on.”  
  
Ichijou shut his eyes as though it’d block out the excruciating pain being repeatedly thrust into him—but all it did was made the moans of the man and the other men pleasuring themselves, their catcalls, their laughter, and the leader’s insults sound even louder and clearer. Finally, he heard the man behind him curse as warm fluid spilled into him. “Good girl,” he said, stroking Ichijou’s hair before painfully pulling out. Ichijou lay there sweating, ass unbelievably sore, body shaking.  
  
"My turn."  
  
 _Fucking brutes!_  Ichijou thought angrily to himself,  _I swear when I finally get out of this I’ll…_  
  
Squirts of semen of men climaxing from their self-pleasure splattered all over his face and the entire pack roared with laughter. Shaking with disgust and fury, he wiped it with the back of his arm (“No! Leave it, it looks good on you!” shouted some of the men) but not before the next man pounded into him without warning, fingers digging into his hips. Ichijou could not suppress another scream. It was unlike anything he’d ever imagined—horrible, nauseating physical pain combined with utter humiliation.   
  
And it kept going as he was passed on to the other workers. His body was so exhausted and aching. Tears he had fought back that had been previously weakly leaking out of his eyes were now threatening to erupt into streams. He raised his head and saw that the leader was no longer in front of him, which could only mean—  
  
"Thought I’d wait until you were too tired to move…I’m not exactly the fighter type like my friends here are, haha."  
  
This time a new pain seared into Ichijou. He thought once again of that other man—that one he refused to acknowledge by name at point—who forced him into this horrible place. He could see him here in the pack, laughing at the man who was once high above him be brutally brought down to his level. He’d probably thrust into him as senselessly as this bastard was, too—thrusting to the point of drawing blood. That man certainly hated him enough to.  
  
He was abruptly relieved of the forced intercourse when there was a yell of  _"What the hell are you guys doing in there? Do you want your food or not!?"_  and the men retreated from the shower room to dress. The leader reluctantly pulled out, giving his hair one last stroking  (“We’ll try again next time, babe”) before joining the rest of his pack.  
  
Ichijou didn’t go to lunch. He now desperately, more than ever, needed a shower.


End file.
